


Imago (Wings)

by MesmiraculouslyMirthful



Series: Goretober [12]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Wings, mild body horror, pupation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 16:08:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12346059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MesmiraculouslyMirthful/pseuds/MesmiraculouslyMirthful
Summary: There was something thick and sticky oozing down the curve of his posture pole.





	Imago (Wings)

Rufioh Nitram’s back itched. He was ten sweeps old, a freshly molted adult, and the desperate irritated skin between his shoulder blades was the only thing that he could think of. 

The floor of his respiteblock was a mess, the proof of his molt scattered across the floor. As he had slept in his cocoon the soft grey chitin of his youth had all cracked and peeled away, revealing glossy black chitin that shimmered with an iridescent brown tint whenever he moved his limbs. His horns were harder and bigger and the yellow keratin had darkened to a deep orange. 

He should have been feeling better than he ever had, having just been essentially made anew, but the damnable _itch_ would not leave him alone. It had been present since he had pupated, and it had just gotten worse in the days afterwards. Recently however the itch had been joined by a feeling of constant and unyielding _pressure_. 

It had finally become more than he could handle and so, instead of cleaning up the mess in the middle of his respiteblock, he was taking a hot ablution and scrubbing his back with a loofa that he had glued to the wall. 

The itching was soothed with every pass of his back against the rough surface but Rufioh had noticed something strange. 

The chitin on his back was still flaking off. 

Typically a troll would not have any loose chitin plates after emerging from the sticky liquid confines of their cocoon. He pressed his back against the loofa again and rubbed his back up and down, feeling the surface rub along the aching length of his posture pole. The strange pressure between his shoulders felt like it was spreading.

Rufioh arched his back and rolled his shoulders, the cold tile of the shower against his back contrasting with the heat of the water spraying down on his face and chest. There was a loud pop and the pressure vanished. After having lived with the constant ache for a week the relief was sudden, but welcome. He exhaled with a soft huff, rolling his shoulders once again before stepping back into the stream of water.

There was something thick and sticky oozing down the curve of his posture pole. He took in a sharp breath and reached back to probe the area with his fingers, trying to calm his pounding blood pusher. The viscous liquid seemed to be coming from his upper back and when he stretched his fingers they brushed against a split that was right where he had been itching.

“Shit,” He whispered, his eyes wide. Something was _wrong_. He turned off the water and stepped out of the ablution trap, dripping water along the tiles. He snagged his towel, holding it but not daring to try to dry off. More fluid dripped from the split when he moved his arms or head. It didn't hurt, but it was mentally distressing and he found himself mumbling in order to stave off the panic that was building in his chest. 

There was a tall reflective plane hanging from the door and it was to this that he made his way. Fog covered its surface but a few swipes from his towel cleared up the worst of it. A well built adult with terrified eyes stared back at him from his reflection. When he turned and twisted his head there was a final gush of fluid and two wet somethings fell to hang from his shoulder blades all the way to the floor. He recognized them, even if the were drenched and crumbled, from his own lusus. Wings, he had _wings_.

“Shit.”


End file.
